Arbor on the Loop
Almond, ash, and linden leaves
drip droplet rains into our mouths,
asleep before the autumn wheat
when no one else is speaking
upon the fragrant park lane.
The hill folds open like a book
as couples lay like calligraphies
inside a wreath of garter snakes.
I buried a brown chicken egg
in a silver box beside the walk
then inside I later found
a little bone and feather grown
to prepare ourselves for separation.
Passings of foot stamp and hoof
dragged a metamorphosed road
over the arbor we shaded.
- John Swain
(featured in the poetry forum 08.22.11)
Near the Herons
Orange peach skin peeled back
revealing wet sky flesh.
Fallen petals lilt like wounded sails
in delicate wind as the day lengthens.
I lie warm on the rock bed
of an ancient shallow sea,
forever near the herons and waxwings.
The setting sun receives flowing water,
this grace needs no human praise.
I continue towards the crucible
and take the nature of embers
for another body I will cherish.
- John Swain
(added 08.17.10)
Rowed in a Green Boat
Knob hills shelter the lake
like a rib cage.
We rowed to the middle in a green boat
and played baptism
in the clear water,
I felt your sun warmth wrap around me,
unashamed of bodies.
My weight sank in the earth at the shore
as I dragged the boat in
when we returned
to the place where we must all return.
In the ground that raised us
and devours,
I will live in melting light.
- John Swain
(featured in the poetry forum 08.17.10)
Soft Leaves Fleet
Soft leaves fleet like quipu strands
as messengers tread the rope bridges,
these white trees they do adorn you,
we communicate without writing, like thrushes.
The mountain lies alone with the road,
the shadow of eagles forbids our passing,
transforming smoke arises from a simple twig,
I know the radiance escape you breathe.
Sacred women sacrifice cattle on a table of blue sun,
the visceral emblem received commends your birth
and the time emergent is propitious,
I still chew the root you prepared.
- John Swain
(featured in the poetry forum 06.14.10)
The Library Terraces
Luna moths carpet quiet terraces
around the library
like discarded books of spells.
I press a severed wing
between the wax paper and stone.
I never knew your solitude
growing earthward
like a dead tree
until we joined our blood hunting.
You taught me aching
then I kept the wine inside me.
The oak trees intone lamentations,
as I await my turn to speak
your chrysalis lips remain silent.
- John Swain
(featured in the poetry forum 04.07.10)
Half Moon Lake
Gold winter grasses reflect the harrier
flying low
like my ghost caught in its silent throat.
The vibrance of bare trees rocks me to sleep,
still walking the flood paths
to the graveyard beside Half Moon Lake.
My ancestors echo
where the rushing stream enters to rest.
I thrust my hands into the freezing water
and retrieve healing stones
melting over my eyelids and mouth.
The cipher sky adored reborn every instant
of my living breath
over her pillow of fragrant leaves and bones,
the day distilled is only the crush of longing.
- John Swain
(featured in the poetry forum 02.15.10)
The Silver Hill
Stone citadel atop the silver hill
bristling with bare locust trees
where the eyrie rejoices in solitude
overlooking the lake.
The majestic deer glides down from the ridge
to sip at the stream in the valley.
I ascended in trance
the splintered trees like archways,
the blue wind deep like shadow paint
over your lidded eyes in holy ecstasy.
The world of my body pulses with love
as you anoint the veils of earth with menses.
I remember the people who are not here
with tenderness,
their presence is felt like soft ferns.
I accept the privilege to be living,
I kneel in honor unfolding before you.
- John Swain
(featured in the poetry forum 12.30.09) |
